


Break  the Surface

by Flynncantation



Series: Shipping Out: Tumblr prompts [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Sexy tumes, Tumblr Prompts, mature content, staig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynncantation/pseuds/Flynncantation
Summary: Craig finds a sobbing, tipsy Stan and has a plan to make him feel better.





	Break  the Surface

Ordinarily Craig wouldn’t care less about finding a classmate drunk and sobbing, but he’s out by the school storage sheds - his convenient smoking spot - so he’s marginally pissed off someone would have the audacity to snatch the place away from him for something as lame as getting wasted and crying.

“You gonna be long?” he deadpans,impatiently twirling his beer bottle green dollar twenty five lighter between his fingers, pausing now and then to flick the ignitor button. Stan looks up at him from his position on a blue upturned bucket, swigging from a half empty bottle of cheap whisky before swiping his coat sleeve across his nose. 

_ Lovely _ , Craig thinks.

“I don’t know what to do!” Stan wails, swaying and latching onto Craig’s sleeve, burying his head against his abdomen. Craig sighs heavily, allowing this for precisely two seconds before gripping Stan by the shoulders and jostling free of him. Stan gives him a wounded look, as if they’re supposed to be besties or something, and Craig rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“About  _ what _ ? Testaburger get a new boyfriend or something?” Craig presses, not particularly interested but rather keen to oust the guy from  _ his _ spot as quickly as possible. 

“You...you’ll understand, right?” Stan answers, eyes red and wet. His customary hat is in his lap and his hair is fluffy and tousled from it.

“Understand  _ what _ ?” Craig asks irritably, deciding he’s not going to bother to wait until he has some alone time and expertly taps a menthol Richmond out of the packet, pinching it between his lips and raising the lighter. 

“C-can I have one?” Stan asks and Craig swears he’s staring at his lips as he takes the wonderful first drag and breathes out through his nose.

Looking him over, down to the bottle in his hands and back up to his eyes, he says, “Don’t you think you’ve got enough vices already, dude?” Stan sinks in disappointment and takes another swig. Feeling an uncharacteristic sensation of giving a shit (or maybe it’s the nicotine), Craig heaves a sigh and nudges over another bucket, plonking himself down on it. 

“Alright, what is it?” he says insistently, taking a second long drag. Stan sniffles, looking down at his perfectly clean Converse. If he didn’t smell faintly of booze, Craig is certain Stan would have that pleasing scent of washed clothes, not quite nameable but a scent all of its own. Considering the state he’s in, he’s well kept and tidy. Craig figures it’s from many years of having to at least seem put together when he’s had one too many.   

“I...I think I…” Stan begins. His hands are trembling and so he puts the bottle down between his feet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I th-think I’m bi.”

“No shit,” Craig mumbles, but Stan takes no notice, burying his head in his hands and releasing a long, wailing sob. Craig saw the way he used to look at Kyle, with longing and heartache, the way he’d fawn over him and follow him from here to there, doing anything he asked despite it rarely being reciprocated. Honestly, Craig thought it was pretty pathetic...and yet he’d felt bad for the guy all the same - not that he’d ever admit it.

“It’s not that big of a deal if you are, you know?” Craig says with gentleness that surprises even himself. Doe-eyed, Stan peers up at him from behind his hands and Craig has to shove away the thought of how he kinda maybe sorta looks pretty cute when he’s crying. “Why’s it even bother you?”

“It bothers me that I don’t know,” Stan mumbles woefully. Out of anyone, Craig understands that feeling particularly well, the uncertainty and the doubt. Course, he’s never been one for labels, but to attach a name to a part of himself that had been frightening and mysterious - it had helped him to finally come to terms with it and accept himself. 

It had been the moment, at age thirteen, that he and Tweek had finally made out. Spontaneous and clumsy and pretty soggy, if he was honest, Craig hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted to be physical with another boy (neither had his over-excitable dick either, which popped up like toasted bread). 

That gave him an idea.

“Maybe I can help you figure it out,” Craig says, wetting his lips and reaching for the belt of Stan’s trousers, stubbing out his cigarette on the way. He pauses when Stan freezes, although he doesn’t push the proffered hand away and as if he’d expected it to happen his legs quite perceptibly widen, nearly as much as his eyes have: excitement, fear, horror? All three? 

“A-a hand job?” he stammers and Craig lets out an unusual bark of laughter that surprises the first smile Craig has seen from Stan since Craig encountered him here. Carefully, lightly, he touches the silver buckle, a careful caress to indicate things to come. 

“Dude, I was thinking blow job, but if you’d prefer…?”

“Noblowjobisgood!” Stan cries, throwing his hands up. Nodding, Craig gets to work unbuckling Stan’s belt, very aware of the trembling hands resting on his thighs. He can’t deny the ripple of excitement he feels at the prospect of sucking a dude off in the school storage sheds, dick already twitching in his pants. 

Stan’s breathing is heavy as Craig pops the button of his jeans, dragging down the zip to find Stan is already half-hard inside dark blue boxers. Glancing up, Craig asks silently if he can proceed and Stan eagerly nods, hips scooching a little further forward to support his agreement. 

Palming him to full hardness, relishing in the mystery and imagining what kind of dick he has, Craig leaves Stan’s cock hidden until he sees the head of it peering keenly from beneath the waistband, wet and pink and very, very ready. Stan’s hands have moved to grip the bucket so tightly his knuckles are white. And then Craig has urged him free of his boxers, sitting back for a moment to admire his coming feast. 

Stan has one of those dicks that curves very slightly to the right, a nice size, and thick the way Craig likes ‘em. His mouth waters at the sight of it, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, wondering how best to tackle it, the sounds Stan will make, if he’ll be pliant or pushy. 

“D-dude, don’t stare at it,” Stan whimpers. His cheeks are brilliantly rosey, eyes dark with hot arousal. Craig doesn’t know how he could still be confused with an expression like that, wanton and  _ thirsty _ for another dude’s lips wrapped around his dick.

“I’m just checking what I’m working with,” Craig answers, cheekily flicking the head. Stan yelps and swats his hand away, pouting, but Craig is undeterred and when he leans down there are no more protests from Stan, only a low groan when dark lips delicately kiss the tip slowly, wetly. 

“Oh Jesus,” Stan mumbles breathily, head lolling. When Craig takes in the first inch of him, delighting in a light salty taste combined with a faint soapiness, Stan’s hands come up to rake through Craig’s hair. Without force he nudges him forward, to which Craig happily complies, taking the entirety of his cock like a popsicle and smoothly gliding back up. 

Stan breathes out heavily, scratching nails over Craig’s scalp down to his neck where his fingertips lightly brush over dark skin, and then back up. A trill of pleasure trickles down Craig’s spine and down into his dick, and he can’t resist anymore, shoving a hand inside his own pants to fist himself in time with the bob of his head. 

When Stan begins to pant, Craig knows he’s getting close to coming. He speeds his hand to make sure they don’t come too far apart, the hum of a long, loud moan around Stan’s dick the final trigger. Stan shouts a warning, Craig sliding off with a pop to milk the orgasm out of him just as he’s doing his own, at this point caring very little for the mess he’s making of the floor. 

Tidying himself away, he lifts his jacket to wipe strings of cum on his shirt. When he rises to his feet, Craig looks Stan over, finding he looks pretty damn good post-coital. It’s not like he’s not very aware Stan Marsh is one of the most attractive guys in school, but honestly, he’s never stopped to really  _ look _ at him. And now he’s seeing him up close, extremely up close and, well...

“I kinda think you’ve got your answer now,” Craig says casually, dusting his hands like he’s just done a hard day’s labour. 

Stan grunts. There’s a pleased smile stretched across his lips, as though all of his problems just got sucked out through his dick. “That...mmmm…”

“I tend to have that effect,” Craig says smugly. He pulls another cigarette from the pack and lights it, taking a drag before offering it to Stan, who shakes his head. “Feeling better?”

Stan laughs, nodding. “Yeah...I uh...that was something.”

Craig winks. “If you ask nicely.” He squeezes Stan’s thigh. “Next time, I’ll swallow.”  
  



End file.
